The Tragedy of
Upon his shoulder; and he howl'd fearefully:
Said he was a Woolffe: onely the difference
Was, a Woolffes skinne was hairy on the out-side,
His on the In-side: bad them take their swords,
Rip up his flesh, and trie: straight I was sent for,
And having ministerd to him, found his Grace
Very well recovered.
Pesc.
I am glad on't.
Doc.
Yet not without some feare
Of a relaps: if he grow to his fit againe
I'll goe a neerer way to worke with him
Then ever Paraclesus dream'd of: If
They'll give me leave I'll buffet his madnesse out of him.
Stand aside: he comes.
Ferd.
Leave me.
Mal.
Why doth your Lordship love this solitarines?
Ferd.
Eagles cōmonly fly alone: They are Crowes, Dawes, and
Sterlings that flocke together: Looke, what's that,
Followes me?
Mal.
Nothing (my Lord)
Ferd.
Yes:
Mal.
'Tis your shadow.
Ferd.
Stay it, let it not haunt me.
Mal.
Impossible; if you move, and the Sun shine:
Ferd.
I will throtle it.
Mal.
Oh, my Lord: you are angry with nothing.
Ferd.
You are a foole:
How is't possible I should catch my shadow
Unlesse I fall upon't? When I goe to Hell,
I meane to carry a bribe: for looke you
Good guifts ever-more make way, for the worst persons.
Pesc.
Rise good my Lord.
Ferd.
I am studying the Art of Patience.
Pesc.
'Tis a noble Vertue;
Ferd.
To drive six Snailes before me, from this towne
To Mosco; neither use Goad, nor Whip to them,
But let them take their owne time: (the patientst man i'th' world
Match me for an experiment) and I'll crawle after
Like a sheepe-biter.
Card.
Force him up.
Ferd.
Use me well, you were best:
What I have don, I have don: I'll confesse nothing.
Doctor
